


change in pressure (my broken veins say)

by ollyalexander



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Banter, Claustrophobia, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Team Bonding, but it's a bit lowkey, does lance hate him??? does lance like him??? yes to both, i guess, now that i think about it, oxygen deprivation is messin with my boys head, they're in a tiny space anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 19:05:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11904249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ollyalexander/pseuds/ollyalexander
Summary: “You’re getting kinda passive-aggressive there, buddy,” Lance says, hastily trying to backtrack. He’d walk backwards if there was space, because Keith is trying to kill him with his eyes. “Let’s chill down, dude. Few deep breaths. Or none, so we don’t run out of oxygen.”“I sincerely hope we do,” Keith says, pinching the bridge of his nose to contain himself. Lance has to agree.Or, Lance and Keith are roped into the worst team-building exercise imaginable. Many mistakes are made.





	change in pressure (my broken veins say)

“Well, this is convenient,” Lance says aloud, only a moment after the lid of the box shuts him in. The claustrophobia approaches, but he doesn’t let himself think about it, just like he’s not thinking about the only other person in the box with him.

He’s expecting it’ll be easy, to get out of here—if he’s doing it, of course. Keith? He’d probably do it faster, but that’s no fun. More like he’ll watch Lance struggle for a few minutes then leave him alone to solve it. Lance scowls in spite of himself.

“How is that the first thing you comment on?” Keith asks. Lance can feel him pressing against his back, probably forcing himself up to full height to feel the cool metal of the lid.

(Okay, he’s not that short, but Lance likes making fun of his height).

Apparently, not wanting to get killed translates into not cooperating with your team member(s?) in Altean, because saving his own ass has cost Lance a team building exercise.

(“I’ll just die next time, Allura, no big deal,” he’d snapped to Allura before, which probably contributed to… all of this.)

Yesterday, Keith—wanting to go test out if he could get through Galra tech again—had forced him aboard a headquarters on a planet Allura was hoping for an alliance with. On the bright side, he did manage to open the doors and piss the Galra off enough to get them to abandon their headquarters, but they did destroy half of the planet in the process.

“Win some, lose some, eh?” Lance had said—which, in hindsight, doesn’t seem like a good thing to say when a dangerous princess is glaring at you. Keith had gritted his teeth up a storm, but had generally kept his stupid mouth shut, but that fiasco did end up with them in a metal box, so it wasn’t really much help.

This is supposed to be team building, but Keith seems to be doing his own thing. (This is a recurring theme in most group activities.) He’s muttering to himself, something about timers and switches and corners.

“What’s there to see in a dark metal box, exactly?” Lance asks rudely. He feels Keith’s glare. “Other than, you know, death. Because I might suffocate in here.”

“We both might,” Keith says impatiently. “Did I say might? I meant _will_ , in your case—at least, I hope so. Sorry, Allura.” No response. “Hey, feel this spot over here. Is that a bump or what?”

Lance reluctantly moves his hand over to a patch of wall, running his finger over it suspiciously. He shrugs. “I think it’s just a dried glob of paint,” He says.

Keith exhales annoyedly, as if it’s Lance’s fault that they’re in a tiny metal compartment of doom.

“I don’t think there’s anything to press,” Lance adds unhelpfully, watching Keith drum his fingers against the wall. Keith’s jaw clenches.

“Thank you so _fucking_ much for telling me,” He says, practically growling, his fingers curling into a fist against the wall. “I couldn’t have figured it out without you, Lance. I’m so glad that I have Lance McClain with me to get out of this. Fucking. Tiny. Metal. _Box_.” The sentence is accented with bangs against the wall, and Lance grimaces. He knows Keith is imagining the wall as his face.

“You’re getting kinda passive-aggressive there, buddy,” Lance says, hastily trying to backtrack. He’d walk backwards if there was space, because Keith is trying to kill him with his eyes. “Let’s chill down, dude. Few deep breaths. Or none, so we don’t run out of oxygen.”

“I sincerely hope we do,” Keith says, pinching the bridge of his nose to contain himself. Lance has to agree.

“So, how long do you think this thing has been here, eh?” Lance asks, trying to break the tension. “It seems kind of new, for something that’s been preserved for 10,000 years. I bet Pidge and Hunk would get it done really quick.”

“Don’t even,” Keith starts, then shakes his head. “Lance, this isn’t the time to play friendly with me. We need to figure out how to get out of this death contraption, so I’d appreciate it if you got your mind out of the gutter for once and stopped being useless.”

“ _Excuse_ me? _Useless_?” Lance asks, affronted, hand on his heart in not even mock hurt. Keith’s standing with his arms folded against the wall, so it’s not like he’s doing anything either.

You know, Lance is surprised there’s enough space for that—if they both stood at full height, the lid would touch their heads, and they have about half a step of space between them.

Keith is staring at a space next to Lance’s shoulder. He wishes there was a way to turn off the light.  
  
“Do I need to remind you who escorted you on your little Galra mission?” Lance snaps. “I was waiting in Blue very patiently, ready to go ninja if you gave me a signal. We were _killing it_ , Keith! It was the ultimate team building exercise—hear that, Allura?”

“She probably did,” Keith says. “I may as well thank you for that.” His voice has lowered, as has his posture, his slump. But his eyes are still darting around precariously, if only so that he doesn’t make eye contact with Lance.

Lance waits. And waits. But it becomes evident that Keith needs a push. “Okay,” He says.  
  
Keith blinks. “‘Okay’ what?”

“You can thank me,” Lance says patiently.

“I can—wait, what?”

“You said, ‘I may as well thank you for that’. Where’s the thank-you? I’ll accept it if you say it.”

Keith rolls his eyes, ignoring Lance’s smug-but-confused grin. “That _was_ the thank-you,” He says irritably.

“Oh.” It makes sense, but Lance doesn’t like it, so he turns up his nose. “Well, your thank-you is weak and invalid. Try again.”

“Of course this would happen to me,” Keith sighs, rubbing a spot over his eyebrow and wincing. He’s still refusing eye contact. “Getting stuck in a metal box with you… whatever. _Thank you_ , Lance. For having my back. Do I have your fucking validation?”

“I gue—” Lance begins, and suddenly, the wall to his back pushes forward, launching him into Keith’s arms.

“It _moved_!” Lance yowls, as Keith rearranges him and goes to feel the wall (that’s trapped them even closer together, thanks) as if something else is gonna happen.

“Duly noted,” He says. “Did you do anything? Touch anything?”

“No, I was just leaning against it,” Lance says. “Anyway, since the thank-you is out of the question, let’s talk about how you called me useless! I have many uses. One of them is punching you in the mouth.”

Keith rubs his mouth, but Lance catches sight of his silent snicker. “That’s not important,” He mutters, and Lance’s jaw drops.

“Don’t—don’t tell me what’s important!” Lance sputters indignantly. “How do you think we’re going to get out of here if we don’t work together?”

“This has nothing to do with working together,” Keith says.

Lance crosses his arms. “It does so,” He fires back. “How are we supposed to get out of this by working together if you’re just going to bully me the entire time? It hurts, Keith. It _hurts_. I’m crying on the inside.”

(Okay, he may have overdramatized a bit, but that’s because it _did_ actually hurt—especially coming from Keith, for some reason.)

“Okay,” Keith says, trying not to look bemused. “Fine. I’m sorry. You really aren’t… I mean—”

Now, the wall that he’s been leaning on jerks, but he saves himself much more gracefully than Lance had, only steadying himself using Lance’s forearms. Dumbly, Lance keeps staring at them as he talks, not even replying to his comment. “We may have gotten it,” He says. “What if it’s just talking?”

“Talking?” Lance scoffs. “We’ve been talking up a storm, buddo. If talking activated its movement, we’d be crushed together like pancakes.”

Keith frowns and looks down. “We may as well be.”

“We’re not even touching!” Lance argues, and tilts his head. “Not that I’d mind if we were.”

Keith’s eyebrows flick upwards, and Lance’s heart jumps straight up into his throat when he realizes what he’s said. The air thickens briefly, going quiet, and he clears his throat to break it.

“Anyway. Complimenting?” Keith suggests. “Maybe that’ll wear it down.”

Lance shrugs wearily—he’s got nothing to lose. “Keith, I like your… eyes,” He tries lamely, and Keith just looks at him expectantly when nothing happens. Lance immediately springs to his own defense.

“Well, what? It’s a compliment!” He thunders, and Keith just sighs. “Try and be more sincere, you know?”

“Oh, you think you know the box well enough to talk for her now?”

“Please don’t assign gender to the box that may kill us.”  
  
“Whatever,” Lance snaps. “But, okay. Um, Keith, you have very nice eyes—they’re pretty as hell, so brush your hair out of the goddamn way. I can’t tell the color from here, but I don’t really need to.”

Nothing happens.

“Oh my god,” He says quietly, praying to gods that he’s instantly stopped believing in that the lights will go out right now so he doesn’t have to look at Keith’s dumb pretty eyes and aching smirk. It spread on his face like a plague.

“Okay, so that didn’t work,” He says. “Do you need a closer look?” He combs his bangs out of his eyes, and opens them wide. Lance is screaming at the top of his lungs in his head, so when he opens his mouth, a pitiful noise falls out.

“I didn’t need a closer look,” He squeaks. Keith bites his tongue and doesn’t brush his hair back, keeping it to the side. “Okay, no comment on my eyes this time,” He says, like he’s taking notes. “You can keep complimenting me, by the way. I don’t mind.”

“Your mouth looks really good when it’s not open,” Lance mutters, which isn’t something you want to do in a close, conjoined space, especially when you’re being pushed forward into your rival’s arms for no reason at all.

Generally, telling the truth isn’t really a good idea in this situation, but it’s dawning on Lance that this is exactly what they have to do.

Not that Keith’s his rival—well, not as much as he was before—but he doesn’t really know what else to call him. Acquaintance? Ally? Friend? Subject of ridiculous, five minute, unrequited crush? Someone he shouldn’t be calling hot? “I’ll keep that in mind,” Keith says.

Lance tries to save himself. “With your mouth closed,” He says lamely. And, in the light, Lance watches Keith open his mouth wide, then press his lips together with an audible pop. Lance gives him a cheesy thumbs up and tries not to blush.

“Okay,” He says. “Okay, I have two ideas. Number one: Coran—I know you’re listening, and I really don’t think we appreciate you enough. Your cooking, your knowledge of history, your mustache—” He calls out to the heavens, turning triumphantly as the floor jumps up and down and up and down a few times, like it’s arguing within itself. It goes back to its original stance, though, except with Lance laying on top of Keith now.

Mistakes. Mistakes were made.

“Um, so that theory is proved,” Lance squeaks weakly as Keith tries to sit up, but bangs his head and slides back down. _Don’t… do anything else_ , Lance is repeating like a mantra in his head. _Don’t even speak. I’ll literally call the police if he comments. The space police! Which is basically just Allura and Shiro, but—_

Keith fidgets again. Lance almost passes out. “What’s the theory?” He asks, as if Lance isn’t straddling him.

“That Coran and Allura are controlling this,” Lance says, containing himself. “I mean, I thought it would be like this before we went in, but… I don’t think we can do much on that front, though. Just ride it out.”

Lance pauses, realizing the significance of ‘ride it out’, and turns a terrible color as Keith just rolls his neck again. “Like on a wave,” Lance says, trying to drag it out and fix the situation at the same time. “Like you’re surfboarding. Just ride it out… the wave, ride out the wave, not something else.”

“Okay, Lance,” Keith says, after a second of silence, on the verge of laughter. “Listen, I wouldn’t say this usually, but can you get off, because you’re kind of digging into my—”

“Yes, point taken,” Lance says, trying to get off him in the worse way possible: inching down his legs, getting himself steady by digging his nails into Keith’s hips. When he’s adjusted, his knees against his chest, Keith sits up. They have just enough room now to sit with their knees up, almost locked into each other.

Lance’s stomach squirms. “What do you—what do you mean by ‘I wouldn’t say this usually’?” He asks, and Keith scoffs.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” He mutters, and Lance almost lets it go until he sees the goose bumps.

He points at them victoriously. “Goose bumps!” He cries, as Keith stares both hopelessly and disinterestedly, a feat he should be proud of. “You’re lying!”

Credit to Keith, though. He’s very good at what he does, especially when it’s lying. “I’m cold, Lance,” He says in a tight voice.

Lance shakes his head. “I’m sweating.”

“Sexual tension will do that,” Keith says. “What was your second idea?”

“Oh, um, that it’s telling the truth,” Lance says. “And I guess we just have to tell the truth until Allura and Coran are satisfied that we’ve bonded.”

Keith raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything else. And then, of course, Lance remembers. “Wait!” He says, trying to sit up and hitting his head. “Did you say sexual tension?”

“Yes, forty seconds ago,” Keith says. Lance jerks backwards and hits his head on the wall, groaning and burying his head between his legs. “Stop doing that!” He waits.

“Stop doing what?” Keith asks, in an annoyingly patient voice.

“Being—saying things like that!”

“I’m being honest,” He says. “Which is apparently the way out of here, so I kind of have to continue.”

Lance makes an agitated noise. “Yeah, but being honest shouldn’t include making me uncomfortable!”

“Are you?”

“Very,” Lance says, squirming. Keith rests his chin on his knees, looking him up and down. “That’s a different reaction than what I wanted.”

Lance blinks. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

Keith gives him an omniscient look, which is irritating if not painful to look at. “Ha, ha,” He says. “You don’t have to pretend to be clueless for my entertainment, even though I appreciate it. It comes naturally to you anyway.”

Lance stammers, knowing he must be bright red. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” He mutters. “Flirting with me isn’t funny. Right when I stopped thinking that you were a dick, too.”

Keith pauses, the dust bunnies in this box all gasping in disbelief that he, too, might not know how to respond. “Are we on the same page here?” He asks tightly, and Lance just folds his arms to try and look at least somewhat put-together, although this exercise has proved the exact opposite. “Lance, I’ve been flirting with you _this entire time_. Pidge comments on it constantly.”

“Am I known to pay attention to what Pidge says?” Lance asks, something thickening in his throat. Embarrassment? Morbid curiosity? No, some weird mutation of the two.

Keith just makes a small noise and palms at his cheek. “Lance, are you actually fucking blind?” He asks, which is a good of a response as any, yeah. Lance decides this is the last straw and punches his arm.

Keith hisses, and Lance’s eyes immediately go wide.

“Sorry, sorry!” Lance cries, instantly regretting his decision. Because apparently he can kill Galra in cold blood but not playfully smack his teammate on the arm. His hand jolts forward on its own accord to grab Keith’s arm—to what, assess the fucking damage?—but he pulls it away at the last second. It lays limp at Keith’s waist. “I’m sorry, did that hurt?”

“Lance…” Instead of sounding weary, or annoyed, or any variation thereof, Keith’s voice is starting to sink into amused. As a test, Lance imagines his face (crinkles near his eyes, lips bitten but pulled upwards by invisible spiderwebs) and looks up to see his mental image right in front of his face.

That tells him all he fucking needs to know.

“I’m okay. Can we get back to the topic at hand?”

“Absolutely not.” Because that will make Keith’s apparent flirting with him a reality, and he can’t let that be real. “But… elaborate anyway.”

“You’re the most oblivious when you’re flirted with. It’s just fun to watch. Sue me. I mean, guess it’s no surprise that you didn’t notice, then…” Keith shrugs, as if they’re discussing undesirable weather and not the fact that Lance’s entire perception of him is a lie.

Lance stares at him, open mouthed, eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t be such a dick!” He says loudly. “And it’s funny coming from you, when you’ve barely noticed my flirting attempts since we were still training at Garrison!”

If they had a pin, you could hear it drop. Lance sees his entire world burn down in a flash, a click of fingers, as Keith writhes, the wall pushing them closer together. “Yes I have,” He snaps back. “I’ve just chosen to ignore them.”

“Yeah, I could say that too,” Lance says. Keith sucks in his cheeks and looks away, both of them trying not to even breathe each other’s air.

“You’re not as smooth as you think you are,” Keith says in a dense voice. “I mean—’aw, Keith, need my lips to come keep yours company?’ doesn’t work as well as you think it does.”

 _Obviously it does, if you’ve remembered it and I haven’t_ , Lance thinks snidely, but knows that that will cost him a few more seconds of silence. “I’ve improved since then,” He says pointedly. “At least I don’t dwell on your flirting attempts. No, that would make me seem _too interested_.”

Finally, ladies and gentlemen, Keith has been rendered speechless—officially speechless, by something so pathetic, no less. The most Keith can muster is an angry squint and a look down at his lap, where Lance’s legs are split. His hands have found a comfortable spot around Keith’s shoulders, too, so they’re about ready for a prom photo. Lance tightens them subconsciously, and Keith sends him a suspicious look and raises his hands up to his waist.

“Oh, no fucking way,” Lance says right when the idea has popped into his head. “We’re not making _this_ a competition now.”

“What’re you talking about?” Keith says (after clearing his throat and dropping his hands, obviously).

“Keith,” Lance says, articulating slowly, “I really need to know why everything between us has to be a competition. And don’t play dumb like you want to because this is a good time as any to spill, right? Considering I just told you my biggest secrets and all.”

“This oxygen shortage is really doing things to my head,” Keith mutters. His eyes are shining considerably darker. “Why? Because of reasons. God, this is not a conversation I ever want to have with you.”

“But why?” Lance says, trying for a pout, but letting his face drop when Keith looks up.

“Because,” Keith says, speaking like he has to coil every word out of his gut, “Because for so long, you pissed me off with all of your I’m-better-than-everyone-else crap. It pissed me off like that for a while, and then it pissed me off even more when I started believing it. Because to me, you were. Are. I don’t even know anymore. That’s your truth. En-fucking-joy.”

It takes Lance more than a few heartbeats, blinks, chews to his bottom lip to figure it out. There’s so many directions he could go with this confession, but Keith’s glance up at him is filling in all the blanks. And when he says all, he means his own, too—because here’s his truth and Keith’s truth. And they happen to be very similar.

Lance twitches. Why isn’t he kissing Keith again? “I’m sorry,” He mumbles. “I didn’t know.”

“I mean, I didn’t either. You’re not special.”

Lance manages a dry laugh, his eyes raking every inch of Keith’s face. “I have a really bad idea,” He says quietly.

Keith shrugs, trying his hardest not to look at Lance’s arms around his neck. “It can’t be worse than Allura and Coran’s to throw us in here, but… go ahead.”

Lance almost kisses him. He sees every sliver of wetness on Keith’s red bottom lip. He almost kisses him to make it go away—and he almost kisses him so that he can stop looking at him and just has an opportunity to close his eyes. Unfortunately, everything goes completely, completely wrong, because at that moment, the cap above them pops open, and sweet air filters through.

Lance blushes when he realizes he can’t scamper up like he’d been meaning to when he found himself in Keith’s lap (and he feels like Keith won’t let him go anyway, his hands tight around Lance’s waist. But he does immediately.) Allura’s face is the first to appear, then Coran’s, and they both look irritatingly gleeful.

“Marvelous job!” Allura says to Lance kindly, as if she hadn’t been spying on the most intimate moment he’s ever shared with Keith—probably the most intimate moment of his life, when he thinks about it.

“You and Keith”—she shoots him an approving look, even though he looks annoyed—”Figured it out much quicker than most people who go through this team building exercise, which just comes to show that you’re naturally drawn together, you just needed a little push.”

“That’s kind of the joke,” Coran adds unhelpfully. “You needed much less of a push than most, though… probably because you were already—”

“Coran,” Allura says, and her voice suddenly drops as she grits her teeth. “We talked about staying away from… this topic of conversation, remember?” She says, her voice saccharine. Lance doesn’t even have to look at Keith to know what they’re talking about. Coran frowns.

“Well, yes, princess,” He persists, “But you can’t deny that we’ve been betting on the odds for—”

“ _Coran_ —”

“I need to find Pidge and Shiro,” He says. “They were on my side.” He stalks off, leaving Allura to stare exasperatedly at his back. “Er, nice work, paladins,” She says hastily, and turns to catch up with him, leaving them with silence.

“Er,” Lance says when that’s done with, clearing his throat awkwardly. He’s hoping he can just leave the room before he does anything ridiculous again, but Keith’s on him before he can even make any other decision, grabbing his face and getting all up in his space (as you do when you’re in a metal box, but the fact that his legs are jittery just reminds him that they’re not anymore.)

(Which makes it even worse).

“I just really need to finish this,” Keith whispers, and then kisses him.

That’s finishing it, for sure.

He tastes of heat and electricity and something unmistakably red, and also the food goo—which should probably freak Lance out, but it just makes him more appealing, strangely enough. Keith kisses like he's proving a point—

“Ahem?”

Lance’s tongue literally pauses (as does his embarrassing inner-monologue) and Keith is the one between the two of them to turn his head irritably, leaving Lance’s face in his hair (well, not as much his hair, but it does smell really good. Rosemary?). “ _Yes_?” He asks annoyedly, as if they haven’t been caught making out by all of team Voltron.

Speaking of which, _they’ve been caught making out by all of team Voltron_.

This is the thing that gets Lance to turn around, cringing as he faces a neutral Allura and Shiro, a self-satisfied Coran, a horrified Hunk, and a smirking Pidge. “I thought—why couldn’t you guys just keep on having eye sex!” Hunk wails, as Coran and Pidge turn on him. “Now I owe them all _money_ —”

“Hunk,” Shiro says calmly, “You can’t exactly blame them for kissing when you knew it was gonna happen all along.”

“We are _right here_ ,” Lance says weakly, but they’re all lost in their own conversation.

“Well, yes, I know, but they’re so—”

“Hunk’s kind of right. I didn’t actually expect it so soon…” Allura says wistfully, and when Lance manages to make eye contact with her she just winces in apology. Pidge crosses their arms and looks at them smugly.

“Well, Hunk, time to pay up,” They say, and all of them are lost in another session of bickering.

Lance frowns for a while, but then something pops into his head, and, well—he doesn’t know what will come of it, but Keith is standing right there, trying to hide a grin. And a little part of him—the tiniest, tiniest part—has been betting on how long this would happen, too. How long it would take him to look at Keith and think _I can kiss him_ instead of _holy shit, do I want to kiss him?_

So he steps forward and does just that.

(Kisses him, he means).

He kisses him until Pidge says, “We get it, you’re in _love_ ,” stretching their voice out to be mocking. Keith’s mouth pauses, but then they’re both grinning.

“Kissing was not part of the team-building exercise,” Coran deadpans.

But that’s what works for them, so fuck it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was written like three months ago at four am thank u so much for plowing through it


End file.
